The following account is issued as a public service as well as for cheap jokes. If you are over 50 years of age, please consult your physician.
I was supposed to have a colonoscopy during Monday afternoon’s Mets game and kept the appointment so as to ward off any family health emergencies.
Colon hadn’t missed any of his 24 Mets starts this year.
The last Mets game I missed in its entirety (not even a couple of pitches on the radio) was 671 games prior, on July 29, 2010.
Some things, like a family health emergency, supercede even a Mets game.
Some things, like a colonoscopy, you can put off for only so long before you realize you’ve scheduled yours to unintentionally coincide with a 12:10 camp day start.
I wish Bartolo Colon’s family well.
I wish my family well. My wife and my sister came with me to my thing and I greatly appreciate their support.
Mets games, despite one’s ability to guess in advance how they’ll turn out, are fun to look forward to.
Colonoscopies, despite your being repeatedly told they’re routine, are no fun to look forward to.
Some people prepare for a Mets game by throwing a great tailgate party, complete with awesome cocktails.
You might call preparing for a colonoscopy the worst tailgate ever. You don’t want to know what my doctor instructed me to mix into 64 ounces of Gatorade nor what resulted.
The Mets don’t seem to know how to manufacture runs.
After preparing for my colonoscopy, boy do I know how to manufacture runs.
The Mets wore those awful camo jerseys and caps today.
I had to put on one of those silly gowns today and leave it untied in the back.
Carlos Torres, taking Bartolo Colon’s place, threw the first pitch of today’s Mets game on time.
I showed up for my thing early, was eventually ushered into the room where they hook you up to an I.V. and waited well beyond my alleged 12:30 appointment time. After a while I felt so invisible I wondered if my gown was, in fact, camouflage.
Mets fans probably grumbled until the bottom of the fourth inning when Lucas Duda broke a nothing-nothing tie with his 22nd home run of the season.
I grumbled through more than an hour of waiting until my bottom and I were wheeled into the room where they do the procedure.
Kyle Hendricks of the Cubs, like most opposing pitchers, put the Mets’ batters to sleep.
An anesthesiologist put me to sleep.
In no time at all, the Mets and Cubs played seven innings of 1-1 baseball.
In no time at all, my colonoscopy — the actual business with the tiny camera — was over, and I didn’t feel a thing.
There would follow a bit of grogginess, some apple juice and a bit of bureaucracy keeping me from vamoosing once I heard my results (which were fine), but the important thing to my Met-addled mind was soon enough I was up, I was dressed and I had my phone out to learn that the score was tied after seven. On the way to the car, I divined it was 2-1, Cubs, now in the eighth. Once in the car, I turned on the radio to hear at least a small portion of my 672nd consecutive Mets game observed either in full or in part. I was home on my couch for the final three outs of the seemingly inevitable 4-1 defeat, yet another loss in which the Mets hit hardly at all.
I had a colonoscopy Monday afternoon.
The Mets played a baseball game Monday afternoon.
Hard to say which of us had the worse end of it.